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Jimin was eighteen and in love.
He’d been a dutiful boyfriend, massaging her feet and kissing her forehead and assuring her that “no, you always look beautiful, babe” and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why she’d left him barely six months later.
His parents tell him to do a paternity test. Be realistic, they say, but he refuses. He’d rather not know.
Yeoreum is his daughter.
He moves out eventually, like all growing boys do, except he’s taking a wailing pink bundle with him. He finds a cozy apartment in the city, a secretary job at the firm across the street from the library where his night classes are held.
He shouldn't be complaining-- he’s getting decent shifts, his classes always end before midnight, and he has plenty of time to spend with his baby girl. It’s just that…
It’s his third night in the new apartment. Yeoreum’s wailing because she can’t even sleep through the night on a good day and they’re in a brand new place away from granny and grandpa. Jimin’s right there with her, guiding the pacifier into her mouth as soon as her cries jolt him out of his hazy slumber.
His vision’s hazy, eyesight grey, and a quick glance at the clock -- fuck, it’s four, fuck he said that aloud, fuck, fuck he’s a shitty excuse for a father -- the doorbell’s ringing. Yeoreum screeches, cries so strident that Jimin isn’t sure how her vocal chords are still intact. He slips the paci back into her mouth, but she spits it out and keeps wailing so he gives up and gathers her blanket in his arms to answer the front door.
He’s sure he looks an absolute mess, hair uncombed, dark circles bigger than his actual eyes, skin sallow and pale from exhaustion. Usually it doesn't bother him, but as he swings the door open, though, he’s suddenly and pointedly aware of it. The man on the other side looks angelic.
He also looks angry, but he wears it like an accessory. It takes Jimin’s sleep-addled mind a minute to catch up, and by then, the guy's lips are moving.
“I know babies are tough to deal with,” and oh thank God he isn’t mad, his eyebrows are just thick and heavyset and his eyes are long and sharp but his words are as soft and sweet as syrup. “I can help you put her to bed, if you want?”
“Yeah,” Jimin murmurs, handing off the bundle of blankets. The pretty man is tall, with impossibly broad shoulders. They’re so broad that when he walks towards the bassinet, he completely obscures Yeoreum from view. It’s something that shouldn't realistically bother him at all, but then Jimin’s paternal instincts squirm loose from whatever chokehold exhaustion had put on them and he realizes he has just passed his baby girl into a stranger’s arms.
“Hey!” he cries, running to catch up. “Wait, give her here!”
The man looks back at him slowly. “You don’t want me to help? I’m good with kids.”
Jimin swallows. Despite the minutes ticking by, of his early shift tomorrow, he feels lighter without the weight of Yeoreum in his arms. If he were less tired, he’d question the feeling, perhaps agonize some more over his shortcomings as a parent, but he just slumps into the living room sofa and clutches a throw pillow to his chest.
Through hooded eyes, he watches the man rock Yeoreum in his arms, bringing a slender thumb to stroke her cheeks. She calms, breaths coming fast and quick, and she seems to be asleep again. The last thing Jimin remembers before slipping into the embrace of sleep himself is somebody draping a blanket over him, dimming the lights, and blowing the bassinet a kiss.
He sees the man a week later, in the elevator. Jimin recognizes him immediately, clutches Yeoreum tighter to his chest as he sizes the man up.
“Seokjin,” he says, stepping into the elevator.
“What?”
“My name is Seokjin.”
“Okay,” Jimin mutters, hand hovering awkwardly over the elevator buttons. “What floor?”
This time, it’s Seokjin that falters. “Uh- we’re neighbors…”
“Oh,” Jimin breathes, eyes wide. “Oh! Apologies, Seokjin-ssi!”
“It’s no problem,” he says, patting Jimin on the back like they’re old friends. “I introduced myself that night, but I guess you must have been too tired to remember.”
“About that,” Jimin starts. He feels his face heat up, and looks down at Yeoreum to avoid those thick eyebrows, now furrowed in confusion. “You broke into my house?”
“You let me in,” Seokjin says. He’s standing uncomfortably close, and though the door of the elevators have closed, they’re not moving. Jimin’s sure this Seokjin guy doesn’t mean to unnerve him, but he’s so tall and broad that Jimin can't help but feel jittery.
Yeoreum seems to sense his discomfort, letting out a distressed whimper. It’s the sort that usually precedes a long, dramatic wail, and Jimin jolts, reaching for the pacifier that’s always somewhere just out of reach. To his surprise, Seokjin has snapped into action, too, digging through the bag at Jimin’s arm.
“What are you doing?” he asks the taller man, switching Yeoreum from hand to hand as he rifles through each of his coat pockets.
“Paci, right?” he asks, and seems to find something. “Aha! Is this it?” It’s Yeoreum’s first pacifier, a worn one that he carries in case her brand new purple one goes missing. Jimin accepts it graciously and rushes to push it into his baby’s mouth. She suckles almost instantly, and it reminds Jimin with a start that it’s almost time for his baby’s dinner.
“How did you know?” he asks, once the crisis has been safely averted.
“I have five younger brothers at home,” Seokjin explains. He brightens at the thought of them, pressing the button to take them to their floor with a small smile. “I had to take care of three of them when they were babies, so I know a lot about how to handle kids.”
Jimin nods. He isn’t really sure what to say to that.
“Look, Jimin-ssi, if you or your kid ever want to come over for dinner, I’d be glad to have you!”
“You live alone?” Jimin asked.
“Yeah. I go to school in the city, but apartments were so much cheaper out here. I was supposed to live with my little brother, too, but he decided to live on campus.”
“So it’s just you all the time? That must get lonely.”
He shrugs. “Hard to be lonely when you're busy.”
Oh. Jesus, Jimin feels like an idiot. The elevator doors open, and Jimin hurries out. God, he and Yeoreum have been bothering this poor guy for nearly a week.
Jimin has this habit of pretending his struggles exist in a bubble. He only moved out, after all, when he realized he was burdening his parents with the costs of a baby. He took Yeoreum with him to work and to class because he didn’t trust nannies or daycares, but now, when the world weighs heavy on his shoulders and he can’t help but grow used to Yeoreum’s crying, he’s harshly reminded that his terrible parenting has consequences on the people around him.
“Seokjin-ssi, I’m so sorry-”
“Don’t mention it.”
“But-”
“Actually, I know how you could make it up to me. Come over for dinner tonight.”
“Wh- what?”
“Knock at … how about eight? Or is that too late for the baby…?”
Jimin shakes his head. “Seokjin-ssi, you really don’t have to go through all that trouble-”
“Nonsense, I love to cook, and I’ve been really stressed lately.” He scratches the back of his head, the tips of his ears turning the fairest shade of red. It’s so endearing that Jimin has to look away. “Bar exam’s in a couple weeks. I’ve been doing long hours at the office anyway, and all of the cramming is getting to me.”
“You’re a lawyer?”
“About to become one,” he corrects. “So, dinner?”
“Dinner honestly sounds amazing right now,” he admits. He hasn’t had the time to cook much but ramen and instant rice for a while now, and the prospect of a warm meal makes his stomach perk up in interest. “I have night classes, though.”
“Oh.” Seokjin pauses. “So, is the sitter here yet?”
“I don’t have a sitter,” he explains. “I take Yeoreum to class with me. Work, too.”
“I know we barely know each other,” Seokjin begins. He looks shy, and for a second, Jimin wonders if he’d be the same way in a courtroom. Soft-spoken and well-mannered, or boisterous and stubborn. “But if you ever want an evening to yourself, I’d be happy to take care of Yeoreum for a while.”
Jimin isn’t sure what to make of that. “Why?” he asks. “Why are you being so nice to me, Seokjin-ssi? You barely know me.”
Seokjin doesn’t answer for a long moment, and Jimin is suddenly aware of the time. “Shit,” he says, and slaps a hand over his mouth. “Shoot,” he corrects, digging for his keys. “I’m late to class, Seokjin-ssi-- oh no, I won’t have enough time to make her dinner-”
“I can help,” Seokjin insists, reaching out for Yeoreum. Jimin hands her off instinctively, then flinches.
“You don’t have to, Seokjin-ssi. I’ll just have to miss some of class, it’s not a big deal.”
“Education is a big deal,” Seokjin says, his voice deep and serious. “I know I barely know you, Jimin-ssi, but to answer your question, I want to help because you seem like a lovely person.”
Jimin pauses, he really, truly considers letting Seokjin take Yeoreum and tuck her into her bassinet. It would be so easy , some depraved part of his mind whispers. All he has to do is say yes, and all of his worries would be alleviated.
“I’m sorry, Seokjin-ssi,” he says. It’s quiet; the words belong to the little part of Jimin that didn't have to grow up at 18. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful person, but I did just meet you…”
Seokjin smiles pleasantly, but Jimin feels a sinking prickling of dread inside his stomach when he notices the smile is completely genuine. He can’t help but feel like he’s done something wrong.
“I understand,” Seokjin says. “I'm sure my mother would have made the same decision in your shoes. I’m sorry I held you up, Jimin-ssi.”
Jimin smiles. “Looks like you owe me a dinner Saturday night?” Seokjin passes Yeoreum back into his arms with a giggle. A giggle.
“Guess I do.”
Seokjin eyes the blanket bundle warily. “Hey, listen up. I was a baby once, too. I know all the tricks in the book, so don’t you try any funny business.”
Jimin barely manages to stifle his giggle. “Seokjin-ssi, she’s barely half a year old.”
“That means nothing!” he protests, eyebrows raised comically high. “She’s a freeloader! She’s been playing dumb this whole time. You’re being conned out of your precious mashed peas!”
Jimin knows Seokjin’s joking around to try to make him laugh, and that mere thought makes his breakdown seem like a distant memory. “Sorry she woke you up again.”
He shrugs it off. “The more pressing issue is that you’re being robbed, Jimin-ssi!”
“Don’t you have that exam to study for?”
“You have work tomorrow.”
Jimin swallows. “I-”
“I’ll watch her.”
“Huh?”
“Yeoreum." Seokjin says it like it's the easiest thing in the world, but Jimin shudders at the thought of the feedings and diaper changes and nap schedule and god knows what else comes with taking care of a baby. "I’ll stay with her all day, so you can have some peace of mind for once.”
“Seokjin-ssi, you really don’t have to-”
“Do you still not trust me?”
“What? No, I- Well, not yet," he admits. "We’ve only known each other for a week.”
“Then let me earn your trust. Then I can start babysitting Yeoreum and things will be a lot smoother.”
“Seokjin-ssi, I don’t have much money I can pay you.”
“Money?" Seokjin looks almost comically offended. "This is a neighborly favor. You’ve paid me back more than enough by letting me hold this angel.”
Jimin smiles, and plucks Yeoreum from Seokjin’s arms. The second he nestles her back into the bassinet, she starts wailing again. Jimin sighs, tears pricking at his eyes once again. He remembers Seokjin’s presence suddenly and looks up, embarrassed, ready to apologize. But Seokjin is already at Yeoreum’s side with a pacifier ready to go.
“There,” he says, after coaxing the object into her mouth. “That should do it.”
“You’re so good with her, Seokjin-ssi.” It's a post-breakdown thought accidentally vocalized, but Seokjin honors it with a response anyway.
“Hyung. Seokjin-hyung is fine.”
“Jin-ssi, how do you find the time to memorize all of these?” Jimin asks, as he tosses the last of Seokjin’s flashcards into the ‘know’ pile.
He shrugs, careful not to jostle Yeoreum. “Just happens, I guess,” Seokjin dismisses. “I study on the train sometimes.”
Yeoreum’s quiet, breaths coming fast and deep as she’s lulled to sleep. She has a smile on her face, and Jimin can’t tell if he’s relieved or angry that Seokjin’s home tonight.
“We both missed you last night,” he says. It’s soft, nearly imperceptible, but Seokjin perks up.
His ears flush red, but he tries to play it off with a good-natured chuckle. “How sweet,” he teases. “I missed Yeoreum, too!”
Jimin makes to slap him; Seokjin makes to dodge, but their gazes meet and snap down to Yeoreum’s peaceful form. They freeze.
“That’s cheating,” Jimin whisper-accuses. “You have a child meat shield. That’s a literal war crime.”
“All’s fair in…” Seokjin catches himself. “In- in war.”
Jimin smiles. It’s with a father’s intuition, he thinks, that he finds the courage to lean closer to Seokjin.
“Are we at war?” he asks, voice low and raspy. He’s inches away from Seokjin, so close that he feels his fast breaths on his cheek.
Seokjin, to his credit, holds up remarkably well-- the only signals of his discomfort are the tomato-red tips of his ears. “Well,” he begins. His breath is cold, smells like spearmint. He inches closer. “Are we in love, Jimin-ssi?”